it began with a greenhouse
by Metronomeblue
Summary: A mostly unrelated series of ficlets or one-shots/two-shots requested on tumblr; all Diola, all the time, mostly nsfw, unbeta'd, Dean/Viola,
1. Greenhouse

"Are those yellow roses?" Viola asked, sliding a hand along Dean's shoulder. He turned, shooting her a smile.

"For the McKinnons. They've had a baby." Viola snorted.

"Another?" She looped around him, long fingers trailing down his arm. "Haven't they been busy." Dean smirked, looking up his eyelashes at her. Viola raised her eyebrows.

"We could be busy," Dean laughed, trying and failing to keep a straight face. Viola's shoulders began to tremble as she collapsed into laughter. "Oh, like you can do coy," he chuckled.

"Can't I?" She leaned on the gardener's bench across from him, her dress dipping down just over her chest. Dean inhaled, and her smile grew. "Is this not... Enticing enough?" She bit her lip and shifted her weight, neckline falling even deeper.

"Vi." He set down his clippers, hands trembling.

"You want me to stop?" The smile playing on her lips faded, and a desire, bright and burning, filled her face. He dropped the rose, rested his hands for a moment on the workbench, eyes fixed on hers. She watched as he breathed, in and out with a slow, steady rhythm that spoke of things other than calm.

"Viola." The force on her name made her shiver.

He noticed.

It took less than a second for Dean to step around the workbench, and Viola hardly had time to breathe before he kissed her. The force with which they collided ripped a literal growl from him, bodies pressed up against each other, all heat and friction and need. His hands grasped at her waist, fingers digging into the fabric, sliding up and down her back. She reached behind him, pulled blindly at the strings of his apron.

He pulled away for a moment, and Viola pulled it over his head. They reconnected immediately, mouths pressing together. He bent his head, kissing down the side of her neck. Viola leant back, arching up into his touch as he undid the back of her dress. His fingers were still trembling slightly, and she smiled, pressing a kiss into his temple. His fingers stroked down her spine as more and more of her skin was revealed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, breath shaking in and out of her as his lips traveled over her shoulder to her collarbone.

"Dean," she breathed, and she could feel him smile.

It felt like a challenge, so she used the grip she had on his head to pull him back up to her lips. His grip on her loosened, and she furiously began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He reached down to help, and she swatted his hands away. This was her little bit of revenge, and she'd make the most fo it while she could. She pushed his jacket down off of his shoulders, and he dropped his arms to let it slide off. He chuckled into her mouth and kissed her harder, as she yanked and tore at the buttons of his shirt until it was open. She made a frustrated, unintelligible noise, and broke away to force the thing away from her. He laughed all the harder, and Viola rolled her eyes, letting a grin back onto her face. Her hair was falling in tangled curls about her face, lips cherry red and face flushed, and Dean honestly thought her the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Shut up," she muttered, blushing further as he gazed at her. "You're a worse mess than I am."

"And whose fault is that, eh?" His laughter only increased, arms twining about her waist. She snorted, as she had when she'd first walked in, and he felt a sudden irrepressible need to kiss her. So he did. She melted a little, in his arms, and he took the chance to push her dress down. It slithered down, silver and white, and puddled around her ankles. She made a soft sound that could have been 'oh' and could have been 'nyah'.

Dean unbuttoned his pants, and she, with characteristic aplomb, simply shoved them down. He kicked out with his toes, caught the fallen apron so it flopped out flat. Her forehead crinkled, and he savored the single second of surprise in her eyes as he dropped her gently to the ground. Laid out flat on the grey stone, dark hair spread out like waves around her head, Viola reached an arm around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He rested their foreheads together for a moment and breathed.

"Uncomfortable?" He asked.

"No." She hummed, twisting their legs together. "Smells nice."

And it did. Lilies and roses, freesia and peonies, flowers of all shapes and sizes and smells surrounded them. Dean breathed in her skin, buried his nose in her shoulder, and thrust into her. She arched up, a long smooth line, mouth opened wide in rapture. She drew air back into her throat as he drew back again.

"Dean," she breathed, and he felt a strange sense fo peace in a corner of his heart. "My Dean."

She breathed in perfume and salt, dirt and sweat and soft, flowered air. Her husband and the flowers he grew surrounded her, and as he drew back and thrust in she raked rounded nail across his back, clutching him to her chest. There were pieces of him, small parts of his heart and mind that nobody but her saw, and this was one of them.

"I love you," he whispered, falling over the edge of release. She almost doesn't hear, so far gone is she, but when he repeats it she hears it like victorious thunder. "I love you, Vi."

She smiled, gentle and shy and a little disbelieving.

"I love you, Dean." He reached out a finger, traced the edges and bones of her face. Drew a dark curl back behind her ear. They lay there for a few moments, just breathing, just quiet.

"Mr. O'Banion?" A voice came closer and Viola made a face. They were both still sprawled out over his apron, naked and a bit (okay, a lot) sweaty, and neither one was really up to either standing up or fetching their clothes. "Mr. O- oh christ!" It was Mueller, the man Dean had been training lately, and he was absolutely mortified. His face was a mixture of horror, embarrassment, interest and disgust.

"Fuck off, Mueller," Dean laughed, always so amused at others' misfortune. Not that Viola would call seeing her naked a misfortune. She can't resist a giggle herself, really, and after a second glance at Mueller's face, she devolves into full-blown laughter.

"That's just unsanitary," Mueller mutters, turning away, and he sounds so scandalized that it just seems ridiculous.

A/N:

don't look at me I have Diola feels. 


	2. You Nearly Died

This is only my second time writing smut, so I apologize if it's horrible. Also, it turned out really emotional.

The loss of twelve flowers was not nearly so dire as the loss of his life, Dean thought. The loss of money not nearly so dear as the loss of love. And yet, the pale ceiling mocked him, it's persistent colorlessness only forcing him to be reminded of the state of cloth, right before it's stained with blood. His eyes wouldn't close, though, so Dean decided to give them something more pleasant to stare at. He rolled over onto his side, now faced with his wife's dark hair, tossed around her head and along her bare back. With her face pressed into the pillow, and his state of mind as it was, he tricked himself for a moment into thinking she wasn't breathing.

"Vi?" He called, fearful of the quiet. Getting no reply, he turned her onto her back, brushing away with gentle fingers the curls that still clung to her skin. "Viola, please."

"Dean," she murmured, and he nearly began to cry with relief. "What the hell?"

"It's, it's nothing." He shook his head and smiled, a little too brightly. "Nothing at all."

"Tell me," she coaxed, now quite awake and a bit frightened herself. "What is it?" Dean licked his lips, about to spin up a lie, keep her innocent enough of the paralyzing fear a few choice words had brought him to. I just missed you, he wanted to say.

"I nearly died today," was what he said instead. Her reaction was immediate, though subdued. She blinked, slowly, thinking their earlier interactions through, understanding now the way he'd held her when he'd come home. As though he was drowning and she was the only thing he wanted to save, to not sink with him. Viola reached up, thumbs stroking across his cheeks and fingers grasping softly around his chin. She nodded, then, eyes beginnning to brim with tears.

"Were you going to tell me?" Her voice was flat, half angry, half sad.

"No."

"Fool," she whispered, hands still cupping his face. Then, with what seemed a moment of decision, she pushed him down to his back, a knee on either side of his legs. Viola's eyes blazed, her jaw set, and she nodded again.

"I love you," she began, setting her hands on either side of his hips. "I love you like you'd never believe. With my heart and mind, my body and soul. Every flower I pass I think of you, every day seems like a waste if you're not in it." She leant over him, tangled curls reaching down to brush his skin. "The sky seems bluer with you under it, and every other man I meet blurs away because he isn't you." The sheer fury in her eyes faded into a crippling honesty. "I'm young, I know that. But something else I know is that for me... You're it, Dean O'Banion. You're the love of my life, and if you were to die, I think I might, too." Dean swallowed back tears, and, with a trembling hand, tangled his fingers in her hair.

"Vi," he whispered, "You have no idea."

And then he pulled her down to kiss him. She moved her hands up from where they rested and drew them up the sides of his waist, resting them on his chest.

"I'm glad," she broke away between kisses, "you're not," she gasped when his hand stroked down her spine. "dead- oh god, Dean." He smirked aginst the corner of her mouth. She bit his lip and pushed him back down. "No, dear." She smiled wickedly, and his cock twitched. She raised an eyebrow and dragged her hands back down his chest to his hips. He shifted, and she licked her lips, and with that same wicked smile she abruptly took him into her mouth.

"Is this payback?" Dean somehow managed to hiss out, his fingernails digging- not entirely painfully- into her scalp. She merely licked a swathe up his cock, sliding herself up to the point where she could kiss his lips again. Viola tasted of salt, and other things he couldn't be bothered to name. There was an insistent throbbing between his legs now, and Viola was doing nothing to alleviate the situation.

"This, my dear," she sighed, "is celebration."

"Of what?" he managed to groan out as she slipped one soft finger over his shaft.

"Of your not dying today, of course." And with that explanation, she slid herself onto him, muscles tightening and loosening to accommodate him. She sat up, hands resting once more on his chest, legs spread to either side. Dean let out another groan, and her smile grew. His hands, which had fallen to his sides somewhere along the way, now slipped up her thighs to rest at her waist.

"Vi." It was a breath, hardly a word, but it egged her on, and she began to move. Dean met her stroke for stroke, breath for breath.

Love for love.

It could have been hours or minutes, for all he knew, when she stiffened above him, eyes blown wide and hips thrust forward. She let out a deep sigh, and she tightened around him once more. When he felt her fingers loosen , he pushed her back, switching their positions. A few days more, another minute, and he let go.

"Dean," Viola sighed, twining her arms around his neck.

Later, tangled together, legs braided and arms lovingly wound around waists and necks, Dean pressed kisses into her hair and murmured that he was sorry, that he loved her, that he wasn't going to die, wasn't going to leave her. She brushed her fingers through the back of his hair and closed her eyes, breathing him in.

Eventually, their grips on each other loosened, and Viola stood, walked to her dressing table. She returned with her brush, and Dean smiled fondly as she handed it to him. Shyly, for all the wicked smile she'd thrown him before, she turned her back to him and hugged her knees to her chest. With gentle fingers and loving touch, he untangled her hair. It was knotted from their earlier activities, and he pulled at it, kindly and carefully untagled the most painful of messes. He brushed it until it shone, and when they found themelves reluctant to leave their small sanctuary of intimacy and love, he reached for a ribbon lying on the ground.

He twisted her hair skillfully, pulling and pressing strands of dark luster into a neat braid. She was quiet, glad enough to hear him breathing, and as he braided, he talked. He spoke to her about his business, both legitimate and not, about Al Capone and a stupid joke. About the iron salesman and calla lilies, and the fear that one day she might not wake up beside him. He told her everything, every strand of hair being folded together with story, until he finished, and tied the ribbon into a bow.

She stood, then, and when she turned to face him, he dreaded what he might see in her face. Viola was stunning in the dawning light, softly outlined in gold and silver. Her face was still slightly flushed, her lips worn red, and a pink circle growing darker on her collarbone. She was wearing a sheet, twisted artfully around her, held only by a knot at her shoulder, and he stared at the knot so he wouldn't have to look at her. The minutes ticked by, painfully slow.

"I love you," she said, finally, and his head snapped up in shock that that was the thing chosen to break the silence. Her eyes were level, her mouth turned up in a rueful smile. "So don't get yourself killed today, alright?"

He kissed her, hard, and the broke away with a brilliant smile, all the joy in the world in his face.

"I would never!"

I don't think any of this is historically correct. I have no idea if Viola knew from the start or not, but I'd be willing to bet she did. I also don't own anything. This is all just fun and games. Until somebody loses an eye. Then it's fun, games, and eyeballs. 


	3. Hurricane Shoes part one

A/N: I GOT TO USE MY SEX PLAYLIST. Sorry, that shouldn't make me so happy. Anyway, fic. Not mine, etc.

Part 1/2

Viola is bored. Decidedly so. She's finished her letter to Vivian, her list of errands- except for that one right at the bottom, (which may or may not involve her husband and a degree of flexibility)- and she's even cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, and now she's just bored.

So she gets on the bus, leans against the railing and bites her lip. She thinks about that last errand on her list and smiles wickedly. It garners a few looks, and she reaches up to fix her hair, just to show off her wedding ring. The starers turn away, disappointed, and Viola's smile grows more smug.

She keeps thinking about that list, and she fidgets with her fingernails, imagining Dean coming home, shucking off his coat. She feels his shoulders beneath her hands as she pushes him to the wall, his hands on her waist, in her hair, everywhere. She runs her thumb nail along the pad of her index finger, and imagines kissing him, so deeply she might drown. The silk of his tie as she pulls it from his collar, the rustle of her dress as he pulls it up around her hips.

The bell for her stop rings, and she blinks out of the daydream.

She strolls off the bus, long legs and confident smile, and the men part for her like the Red Sea. Viola's always had that peculiar power, making men want her, yet afraid of her. Making them fools while they boast of their wits. It was part of why she loved Dean so much. He wanted her, true, but when he was foolish it was his own damn fault, and he was never afraid of her.

Schofield's is empty at this hour, everyone upstairs with the exception of Crutchfield, who gave her a smile and a wave and let her through. The staircase, old, whitewashed and creaking, was nevertheless quiet beneath her feet, and she could hear the men talking from ten feet below. Some laughter, a quiet murmur. She opened the door easily, subtly, and closed it behind her.

Dean was slouched behind a counter, smoking nervously and shooting Hymie terrified looks with his eyes. Hymie was trying not to laugh, but his spine was arched with worry. The third man, Viola didn't know, but he was clearly the dangerous one here.

"Am I interrupting?" She asked, and if the others were judging by the way Dean sighed, she understood exactly how much she was interrupting. She came over anyway, wrapped one arm around his waist and pressed her lips to his in a quick, near-predatorial display of ownership. He's mine, she wanted to say, and you can't have him. She shot a bright, wide smile at the third man. You can't take him from me.

"Viola," Dean's voice was all warning, and she huffed a laugh.

"Hello," she reached out her free hand to the third man, "I'm Viola, Dean's wife." His face creased uncomfortably, as though this was a tragic, unforeseen development.

"John. Johnny Torrio," he took her hand, and her grip was tighter than his.

"Are you married?" Viola piped cheerily, gneuinely interested. "Any kids?"

"Ah, well I-" And Dean would be laughing right now, if the situation wasn't what it is.

"Viola, we're having a meeting."

"Rude," she pouts, but in her eyes there's a flicker of worry.

"A business meeting," he grinds out, chuckling depsite himself.

"Ugh, fine." She shakes Torrio's hand again. "Lovely meeting you, Mr. Torrio." Hymie is near hysterics behind him, and she swoops in to kiss him on the cheek. "Try to keep my husband from getting himself killed," she directs him fondly. And then, shooting one last dazzling smile over her shoulder, she stalks from the room, Red Sea parting before her.

"That's your wife." Torrio states, flatly.

"Yes, sir," Dean agrees, in a way that would be leering if it weren't so simultaneously loving, ever awestruck by the hurricane of magnificence Viola can be when she chooses to.

"Hell of a woman." Torrio says, eventually, in that same flat voice.

"Isn't she?" Dean sighs, and if he is a little lovelorn, then Hymie has no right to laugh. (He's seen how the man gets over Libby, and it ain't pretty. Goo-goo eyes, flowers and love letters, the whole thing.)

~*~ 


	4. Hurricane Shoes part two

He wasn't angry with her.

Oh, he was pretending to be, because that was their game from day one, but he wasn't actually angry. So it was a surprise when this time, instead of shaking her head and calling him out, she pushed him up against the wall, fingers digging into his thick coat, body flush to his and mouth pressing insistently at his.

Dean dropped his hat, hands coming up to her shoulders slowly. He pushed her back, not gently but never roughly and straightened his coat with a shrug.

"You interrupted a very important meeting, Vi. I-" She smirked and threw herself forward again, pulling him to her. His neck was being forced forward by her grip on his tie and his hair had seen better days, but a furious electricity had gathered over their last few hours apart and it hissed over his discomfort to make it all the more appealing. She pulled back only to dive in again, peppering her words in between the kisses she dropped like weights along his jaw.

"Like- you're- really... mmmm- so upset." Dean could feel her nails raking through his scalp and he arched back, tension and anger hovering like humidity in the air. His head hit the wall and he just stood there, hands tangled in Viola's hair as she bit down hard on his throat.

"Jesus, Vi," he gasped, and she smirked, fingers neatly undoing his tie.

"Shut up." And again with the kissing. The tie slid easily in her fingers, hissing out of it's position even as she looped it around the back of his neck to pull him closer. He gathered enough of his mind to loop his arms around her waist, and he followed her willingly. Dean felt the challenge in her force, and matched her stroke for stroke. He kissed back, tilting his head to deepen what was already an all-consuming moment. She gasped slightly, allowing him to nip at her bottom lip. She dropped the tie, and Dean laughed into her mouth as she grasped desperately at his hair.

He echoed the movement that began this, pinning her against the wall, one knee between her legs, the other leant against the wall for support. She slid her hands under his coat, splaying her fingers across his back, changing her mind a moment later and deciding to unbutton his shirt instead.

He slid off both coat and jacket, and, frustrated with the speed of the whole affair, bluntly pulled her off the wall and pushed her backwards, letting her step up the stairs before following. She hooked a finger in his undershirt, pulling him up to her level for a kiss, the stairs' height reversing their usual positions. They continued to their bedroom in much the same fashion, shedding shoes and hair pins along the way.

She didn't notice the bed behind her, but smiled nonetheless when her knees hit the edge and she fell back. He wrapped a hand around her bent knee, sliding her stocking down her leg. She leant her head back, relaxing entirely beneath his fingers. Dean smiled and pressed a kiss to the dip in the inside of her knee before rolling down the other stocking. He sat for a moment, wreathed in prickling static and cradled between his wife's bare legs.

"You're still not angry," Viola whispered, and he laughed as he pulled off his shirt and undershirt. She laughed back, and pulled the last pin from her hair. He kissed her mouth again before kissing her collarbone, feeling it shake with laughter beneath his lips.

She made quick work of his belt, and he similarly undid her dress, uncovering and unmasking each other until there was nothing between but air and laughter. He pushed into her with one long pull, her nails striping red across his shoulders. Her breaths sped up soon after, and he felt her cant her hips upward as he pushed into her again.

His own breaths were growing shorter, not enough, and he could feel a burning in his stomach that was like lightning and brush fires. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers, and she took the opportunity to kiss him again. He chuckled, smile tugging at his lips, and she drew in a breath when he finally found that place inside her that makes her spine twist. She let out the breath, eyes wide and chest heaving and he pressed against it again and again until she's arched back and whispering nonsense. But he's never been far behind her, and he spent himself moments later, collapsing beside her.

She was quiet, small smile resting complacently in the corners of her mouth, and he traced it because it was beautiful. Her hand reached up to clasp his and she blinked thoughtfully. There was worry there, in that far-away corner of her eyes reserved for the third man and the danger he swept into her life with, and Dean wanted to wipe it away, smooth out the corners. He wanted to cover her bruises with flowers and soothe away her fears with gentle hands. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't, and it made him helpless. So instead he pressed butterfly kisses into her hair and drew soft lines across her back, and wished there was more he could do.

"Quit worrying," Viola told him, and it made him crack a smile.

Well maybe he could, if she just kept reminding him. 


	5. Proposal

She s quite certain he meant to do something elaborate, champagne and ruffles and diamonds. But instead, he s sliding a small black box across a diner table, the lights above them flickering from age and use. She stares at the box for a moment, analyzing all possible reasons or results, before her hand reaches out of it s own accord and lifts it up. She s breathing shallowly, almost not wanting to know what the inside of the small black box is like.

It s velvet, she finds, as smooth and darkly alluring as the man who gave it to her. Set in the middle of it is a ring, simple and worn. There is tarnish around the edges, and although the rest of it shines silver, she gets the feeling it s a new development. There is a single diamond set atop the band, circular and gluttering, and she holds her breath for a moment because he hasn t spoken yet, and she has an idea, now, why he called her here.

"Dean, I-" She doesn t have the breath to finish the sentence, but she looks up, completely swept off her feet, to find him looking shyly up at her. Catching her eye, he swallows and looks down again at the ring.

"It was my mother s," he stammers, as though to fill the silence. "I m sorry, I ve just always wanted to give it to the girl I- and I mean, you don t have to." He s looking more and more nervous by the minute, and at the same time utterly annoyed with himself, as though the vulnerable part of him was upset and the confident part was kicking it and screaming over and over again that there was no way she d turn him down, he s not blind or anything, and he loved her.

"Of course I ll marry you," she cuts him off before he can start again, pressing the box to her chest as she leans across the table to kiss him. He smiles into the kiss, and they both taste like frosting from Ruth s cake.

Viola smiles back, not an ounce of hesitation or doubt in it.

"Were you just going to hide it under my pillow, like the tooth fairy, or was this always the plan?" She asks, sliding a ring more cherished than anything she s ever owned onto her finger.

"I had a plan!" He protests, relief beaming from his face. "Several plans! At one point I was considering having Hymie serenade you from below your window and then throwing the ring down to you from the tree. I d be in the tree, of course." She laughs and shakes her head, and he pokes her with the tip of his spoon.

"Of course," she repeats, taking the spoon from him and using it to leverage away a bit of cake. "Although, personally I d have hidden it in the food, and when I saved you from choking on it, you d have no choice but to say yes."

"You devious little villain," he laughs, and she shoots him a wicked smirk.

"You have no idea," she said, and she meant it. 


	6. Everybody Loves Me

AKA, five times someone stared at Dean and didn't tell him why, and one time they did.

Viola was staring at him hungrily. She had her chin rested in one hand, a cat smile spread carelessly over her face. her eyes were wide and fixed unmovingly on him. It was the kind of staring that would usually make Dean lean back and awkwardly flash his wedding ring. But this was Viola, and sure, she was his wife, but she didn't usually stare at him. As far as he knew, anyway.

Not that Dean_ minded,_ heavens no. If he was being honest, he quite liked it when she stared at him. It gave him ideas.

"What's with the staring?" He asked, and she blinked a little.

"Uh, nothing." She seemed taken aback, but straightened her skirt and sat up. "Nothing at all."

Dean nodded sarcastically.

"I swear it," she laughed, holding up her right hand.

But that wasn't the last time it happened.

The next time, he was filling an order for Mrs. Delaney and she didn't seem to hear a thing he said. He asked if she wanted roses, she just nodded absently, mouth hanging open. He ran a hand through his hair, confused, and he could swear her breathing got heavier.

"Dean?" Hymie asked, shrugging off his coat and nodding at the woman currently drooling over his boss.

'No clue,' Dean mouthed shaking his head. Hymie bit his lip and tried not to laugh. Dean, charming and arrogant though he was, hardly ever noticed when women were actually interested in him. Honestly, it was a miracle he and Viola ever got married. "Here you are, then, Fiona." He cautiously slid her bouquet over the counter, taking care not to harm the flowers. The woman nodded dumbly, and, casting glances over her shoulder, walked slowly from the store.

Dean shivered, a bit frightened. Why did people keep staring at him?

And then, Lara Thomas.

"Fuck me." Was her elegant opening when she walked into Schofield's. She scared him, and he froze.

"No?" Was his reply, now wholly afraid for his life. She smiled, and it was both like and unlike a smile Viola would give him on particularly memorable nights. She leaned in close, and Dean awkwardly pushed her back. "I'm uh- no, hey- I'm very, very verrrrryyyyyy married, I can't-" She further attempted to kiss him, and Dean fumbled away, waving his left hand as though it was some sort of crucifix and he was repelling a vampire. Hymie, meanwhile had collapsed into laughter, and was no help at all. Eventually, Crutchfield escorted her out, kicking and still yelling that she would 'always find him'. It wasn't reassuring, to say the least.

The fourth time Dean noticed someone staring, he mentally made a note to never forget it. He had been cutting tulips in the greenhouse, dirt smeared over his forehead and arms. His sleeves were rolled up, and when Hymie walked in with a trowel, he dropped it.

"Hymie." Hymie swallowed, and moved his eyes from Dean's crossed arms to his face.

"Yeah."

"Hymie, you're staring at me."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I'm gonna..." He pointed over his shoulder and stumbled. "Go over... there." Dean stared bemusedly after his friend. It's not like he really minded.

The fifth time he was covered in dust, and halfway under the counter. The bell rang and he called out that he'd be done in a minute. He'd been slowly hiding guns all over Schofield's, and this was the eighth.

"Now, Mrs... Gardner, hello." Dean noticed her staring, so he reached up to flatten his hair. Somehow he managed to make it worse, and poor Mrs. Gardner was struck dumb.

"Uh, um, daisies. For my daughter," she said faintly. Dean obliged.

"If you don't mind my asking, why're you staring at me?" Mrs. Gardner shook her head and payed for her daisies.

"I..." She walked away, shaking her head.

Dean finally just asked Viola.

"Why is everyone staring at me at work?" He pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "I mean, did you say something about me?"

Viola leaned against the doorway, forehead wrinkled.

"No. What do you mean they're staring?"

"Like you were, the other day! And it's only when I'm covered in dirt or dust or something." He pulled at the knot of his tie, letting it slip from one side of his collar.

"Were your sleeves rolled up?" She asked knowingly.

"Yeah, why?"

"Oh, Dean." Viola bit her lip. She walked over and slowly, gently rolled his sleeves down. "They were staring at you because you're pretty."

"I am not pretty!" he protested, batting her hands away childishly.

"Yes you are," she informed him, smiling, "You're beautiful."

Dean rolled his eyes and began, with an impish smile, to remove the rest of his clothing.

Hers, too.

He did, however, attempt from then on to quit rolling his sleeves up or appearing otherwise disheveled when in the front. That didn't stop Hymie from staring when he clipped tulips, though.


End file.
